Speak of the Devil (15 page)

One day, Anna got home earlier than usual and found Luisa in the kitchen, lighting a blue candle in a tall glass cylinder. The nanny jumped when Anna walked in. The picture on the candle’s label showed a hand extended toward the sky, with five robed figures perched on each finger. The label read,
Mano Poderosa
—“Powerful Hand.”

“It’s for Benicio,” Luisa said. Her cheeks were red; her hands fluttered around as she unnecessarily straightened the salt and pepper shakers. “He’s having some trouble in school.”

“I hope things get easier,” Anna said. The candle reminded her of the music she sent Jody. Everyone had their own rituals for getting through tough times.

“Me, too,” Luisa said.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t think so. But thank you.” Luisa turned to the fridge and started pulling out ingredients for dinner. Anna stood quietly for a minute, then went upstairs to change. When she returned to the kitchen, the candle was gone.

Every morning, walking to the subway, she called Jody. With each passing day, her sister sounded happier and more like herself.

At the office, Psycho’s case moved along the criminal-justice assembly line. He was ordered held in jail until trial, which gave Anna some breathing room. She asked that the DNA samples be run through CODIS—the Combined DNA Index System—a national database of DNA profiles of convicted felons. She would have to wait months for results. She ordered the recordings of Psycho’s calls from jail, but budgets were tight, and there was no money to have them translated into English. Eventually, she found a Spanish-speaking intern who agreed to transcribe the conversations for a few hours each week in between his other assignments. Since Psycho was making a few hours of calls each day, they would always be behind in monitoring him.

She spoke to the family of the dead doorman. His mother said she didn’t even know her son had been working at a brothel—she thought he had a job at a sandwich shop. Anna gave the family information about grief counseling and other services, but came away with little new information for her case.

She sent out subpoenas, bringing in the most relevant witnesses from McGee’s walk-and-talk. She heard some interesting tidbits about the gang and how it was preying on the hardworking immigrant community in and around D.C. But she didn’t have a breakthrough until Nina’s old case files arrived, ten days after the brothel raid.

The first two files came directly from Closed Files. Anna skimmed them—a stepfather’s sex assault of his stepdaughter, and a gang-rape at a skip party. Tragic cases, both, but Anna didn’t see anything related to her current case. The third box was brought by a secretary from the Fraud section; she said the case had been mothballed in a filing cabinet of George Litz, one of the Fraud lawyers.

The name on the outside of the box was
United States v. John Doe.
Anna pulled open the flaps, took out the folders, and started plowing through the contents. This was the investigation of two MS-13 members pimping underage girls. A Polaroid photo of a victim was stapled to the front of the main file. Her name was handwritten across the bottom: Maria-Rosa Gomez, fourteen years old. The girl was pretty, with auburn hair and deep brown eyes. She wore a sulky pout and a strappy sequined top with a neckline that plunged inappropriately between her little breasts. Behind her, a measuring chart with cheerful children’s illustrations showed that Maria-Rosa was 5′3″. Anna had seen a version of this same photo in countless cases. One was taken of every child who was forensically interviewed at the Children’s Advocacy Center.

Anna opened the file labeled
POLICE REPORTS
. All of the reports were written by Nina Flores, in crisp, logical prose. The case started out simply enough. An anonymous citizen called 911 to report that two teenage girls were being pimped out of the back of two white vans at a construction site. Nina Flores drove to the site, parked half a block away, and watched. She saw workers going in and out of the vans in fifteen-minute intervals. She concluded that a prostitution operation was being run out of the vans. She approached the vans on foot. One pimp was in the driver’s seat of a van and one was standing outside, talking to the other through the window. She identified herself as a police officer, and asked the man on foot for ID. Instead, he jumped into the nearest van and sped off. Later, the van was found, abandoned, a few blocks away. It had been stolen.

Nina heard scuffling inside the remaining van. She drew her weapon and opened the back doors. Inside, she found Maria-Rosa Gomez, wearing a sequined shirt but no pants or underwear. A construction worker was putting on his clothes. Nina arrested him and brought the girl to the Children’s Advocacy Center for an interview.

Anna looked up from the police reports. It happened four years ago, but it still made her furious. Pimping a girl out to a series of construction workers. She was filled with a fierce need to find and punish the men who did this. She imagined Nina felt the same way.

Anna dug through the box until she found a CD. It had been hand-labeled with a Sharpie:
CAC, Maria-Rosa Gomez, 9/16/09
, the same day that Nina had approached the vans. Anna popped the CD into her computer.

The scene that came up was familiar. It was an interview room at the Children’s Advocacy Center, the one designed for older kids, so the table and chairs were regular-sized. Each wall was painted a different pastel color. A bunch of colored pencils and sheets of blank paper were in the middle of the table. Although the waiting room was offscreen, Anna knew that Maria-Rosa would have waited among shelves of toys, games, and snacks. The whole place was designed to make kids feel safe, happy, and comfortable.

On the screen, Nina led Maria-Rosa into the room and they both sat at the table. The girl crossed her arms on her chest in the universal teenage gesture: I don’t want to talk to you. She was wearing jeans and that horrible sequined top, and her hair looked mussed.

Anna peered at Nina. She’d never seen the woman on video before, never seen how Jack’s first wife moved or how she smiled. Anna was struck by how much Nina’s demeanor and body language resembled Olivia’s. Nina was shorter than Anna, curvier, too. Anna was long and willowy; Nina looked more like a miniature centerfold. She wore dark pants, a clingy white top that showed a hint of impressive cleavage, and a brown leather jacket, over which her long dark hair fell. She looked tough, sexy, and beautiful. Nina pushed her hair back behind her ears as she started the interview

“How are you feeling today, Maria-Rosa?” Even Nina’s voice sounded like a grown-up version of Olivia’s. It was soft on top but with a tinge of huskiness hinting at a reservoir of strength below.

“Okay.”

“I’m going to need you to speak up,” Nina said. She pointed at Anna. “There’s a video camera there, and it’s recording what we’re saying. So it needs to be able to hear what you say. Okay?”

Maria-Rosa followed Nina’s finger, her eyes growing wide at the sight of the video camera mounted above the door. She nodded reluctantly. Every witness was intimidated by this revelation at first, then eventually forgot that the recording equipment was there.

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Nina leaned forward, making good eye contact with the girl. “You’re not in any trouble. You’re not in trouble for skipping school. You’re not in trouble for anything you did in the van. You’ll never be in any trouble with me, as long as you tell the truth. That’s the one rule we have in here. I promise I’ll always tell you the truth. And you have to tell me the truth. Can you do that?”

Maria-Rosa met her eyes, briefly. “Yeah.”

“First, I want to see if you have any questions for me. What can I tell you that would help you understand this, and feel comfortable with it?”

Anna was impressed with Nina. She’d seen many cops barrel ahead, asking questions of a victim who wasn’t ready to answer—prompting them to clam up or lie. Nina was giving her space, creating trust.

“Is my mom listening?”

“No.”

“Are you gonna tell her what I say?”

“No. With a couple exceptions, I don’t tell her what you tell me.”

“What do you mean, exceptions?”

“If your future safety is at risk. Like if you told me your dad was touching you in a way he shouldn’t. I’d need to address that, because it wouldn’t be safe for you to go back to your house under those circumstances.”

Maria-Rosa rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing like that.”

“Okay. So, tell me about your school. What grade are you in?”

“Ninth.”

“What’s your favorite subject?”

“Art.”

Maria-Rosa started talking: about her school, her homework, her friends. Nina listened actively, making a few comments, asking questions in the right places. The girl grew more relaxed and started to bond with the detective. It was an impressive display. In ten minutes, Anna got a flavor for Nina’s personality—and felt a sort of wistfulness as a result. Nina was exactly the sort of cop she would want on her own case. Empathetic, patient, sharp. She knew Jack wouldn’t have married someone unless she were special.

“So, Maria-Rosa,” Nina reached over and gently touched the girl’s wrist. “I see you have a little tattoo here. LPS. What is that?”

“Langley Park Salvatruchas.” The girl’s voice was quiet, and despite her grown-up shirt, she seemed very young.

“What is LPS?”

“It’s my clique.”

The girl took a piece of paper and a colored pencil and started drawing a picture. Many young witnesses did this; they were more comfortable talking about difficult subjects when they were looking at something else.

“Did your clique have something to do with why you were in that van today?”

Maria-Rosa nodded and continued to draw flowers and hearts.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

The girl kept sketching silently. She was considering whether to talk, Anna thought, weighing her loyalty to the gang against the repulsive requirement of selling herself to random construction workers. She both wanted to protect the gang and for someone to stop them.

“Everyone needs to put in work,” Maria-Rosa said quietly.

“Have you put in this kind of work before?”

“A few times.”

“Where?”

“Construction sites. I’m not sure what streets or anything.”

“Do you know the cities?”

“One time it was Silver Spring. Another time was Alexandria. A couple times in D.C.”

For Anna, those words opened a legal door. The girl had been sold in Maryland, Virginia, and the District. Interstate trafficking of a minor was a federal offense.

“Always in a van, or something else?”

“A van.”

“That man who was in the back of the van with you today, when I opened the doors. Had you met him before?”

“No. He was just a construction worker.”

“What was he doing with you in the van?”

“What do you think?” Maria-Rosa stopped coloring and looked at Nina. “He paid twenty dollars to fuck me.”

The girl was seeing if she could shock the detective. Nina didn’t blink.

“And did he?” Nina asked softly. “Fuck you?”

Nina was mirroring the girl’s language, a technique meant to build trust and understanding.
You can’t shock me
, it said.
I’m still with you. And it’s okay.

The girl kept Nina’s gaze. “Yes.”

“Is that what you did at all the construction sites in D.C., Alexandria, and Silver Spring? Had sex with construction workers in return for money?”

“Yes.”

“There were two vans today. What was the other one for?”

“Another girl.” Maria-Rosa started coloring again. “Mercedes. She was putting in work, too.”

“Did you or Mercedes get to keep any of the money?”

“No. The guys did.”

“The same guys who drove the vans?”

“Yeah.”

“Who was driving Mercedes’s van? The one that drove away when I came.”

“Psycho.”

Anna blinked. How many Psycho’s could there be? Maybe many in a gang like MS-13. But she’d bet this was the same guy they’d arrested for raiding the brothel.

“Do you know Psycho’s real name?”

“No.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“No.”

“What about the man who was driving your van?”

“Diablo.”

Anna’s heart jumped. These were her suspects. She listened intently.

“Who is Diablo?”

Maria-Rosa shrugged. “They say he’s the Devil, but I think he’s just a mean guy with a messed-up face.”

“Do you know where Diablo lives?”

“He comes and goes. When he’s not around, we’re pretty chill. But when he comes, he wants to see action, make us the ‘real’ MS-13. He makes everyone put in work.”

“What counts as putting in work?”

“Girls have to get money for the gang. Begging or hooking. Boys have to make everyone scared of the gang.”

“How do the boys do that?”

A pause. “I don’t know.”

“Maria-Rosa, do you have a boyfriend?”

The girl shifted in her chair, rearranging her legs. She took a new piece of paper and another pencil. Anna thought,
She’s preparing to lie
.

“No,” Maria-Rosa said. “No boyfriend.”

Anna wondered who she was protecting.

The interview went on for another fifteen minutes. Nina got a little more information, then wrapped up with gentle transition questions about innocuous subjects. She led Maria-Rosa back to the waiting room. The video turned to black.

Anna was sorry to see Nina leave; now that she’d seen Nina in action, her absence made Anna feel as if she’d just lost a friend. She popped the CD out and put it carefully back in its envelope. She wondered why this case hadn’t gone forward. It seemed fairly strong from the look of the CAC interview.

The terrible answer came in the next folder. It was labeled
MARIA-ROSA GOMEZ GRAND JURY.
It began with a copy of a subpoena issued to Maria-Rosa for her testimony to be taken on September 24, 2009. Police reports reflected that Nina called Maria-Rosa three days before her grand jury appearance. Maria-Rosa said that she didn’t want to go in the grand jury—that if she went in, the gang would kill her. “And they’re going to kill you, too,” she told Nina. Nina wanted to put the girl up in a hotel, but Maria-Rosa refused, claiming she was staying “with somebody safe.” Nina drove to her house to talk to her, but her parents didn’t know where she was. They said she often spent nights out.